


Behind the Mirror

by dianekepler



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Knifeplay, general mirror shenanigans, meannness, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianekepler/pseuds/dianekepler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the mirror-verse, cheating is unwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Giving in to McCoy's advances had seemed like it would be worth the risk. Uhura would discover if the rumors were true and then tuck the resulting card into her sleeve to get leverage with later. That brooding McCoy did behind the Captain's chair even bordered on attractive, not to mention the toned, predator's body that moved with ease among the rest of the crew. Only a handful of other men on this ship were as sure of their power and one of them already thought she was his.

Then again, Uhura hadn’t thought McCoy capable of going the whole night.

So they were, two rounds in, with Uhura prone and cursing herself for not anticipating that a man with a ship's pharmacy at his disposal would take full advantage. He sat on top of her and kneaded the long muscles on either side of her spine -- part massage, part excuse to, as he said, refract -- although that wasn’t a verb and he damn well knew it.

And while bondage was almost a given, these restraints made her uneasy. Uhura's wrists were held together by some kind of sea-colored gel that responded to the temperature and pH of his body, so that there wasn't even a lock to pick. It made her uneasy. Restless. 

“Easy, darlin’,” McCoy slurred into the nape of her neck. “Don’t want to wrench those shoulders." He nipped her skin above the angle of each scapula, either to drive home his point, or suggest what might happen if she kept it up.

“You wouldn't,” she bit back.

There wasn't any way to see it, but it was clear from McCoy's tone that a smile had eased it’s way across his normally scowling features. “'Course I could just send you down to medbay.”

Uhura sneered. “Spock would rip your head off.”

McCoy continued the easy motion of his hands. “Maybe. But it could wind up right beside yours. That pretty mouth might be the last thing I ever saw.”

The image was disturbing, so Uhura gave up and settled. If she pushed it, so would he, and McCoy’s well-known predilection for bringing work home was not even remotely her thing.

“That’s good. Because right now you're mine. At least 'til you’ve washed me off and it’s safe to get with the half-breed again.” There was a lightness to his tone that made Uhura wonder if he’d been into anything besides the bourbon tonight. Well, those performance enhancers. He was already filling out again, lining up with the cleft of her ass.

McCoy turned her body over, eased down between her legs, and eyed her there. A crooked smile betrayed his interest. McCoy knew very well that she hadn't come yet and there would be consequences if she didn't. "Looks to me like you want something.''

She jumped on the pronoun. "I know you do."

"Could be." He bent Uhura's knees and trailed his lower lip along her skin, distorting his expression into one that made her brain tingle and her pussy twitch with a return of the savage interest it had been burning with before. 

Once he leaned in there was no more sparring, just the sounds of his progress as he lapped at her. She did her best to keep any reactions low-key -- a hum, a negligent shift --instead of the moaning and fucking his face that she wanted to. Oh, the doctor was good all right. He was living up to the rumors which had helped her to agree to this precarious little escapade in the first place and now, she was finally getting that full, hot length of his tongue, now teasing, now almost flat against her inner lips as his fingers pressed inside and curled, finding her center and digging in. It was even hotter than that first round, half-uniformed and crosswise on the bed, or the second on the floor next to it, with her head cushioned by the mattress as he used her mouth. McCoy knew exactly the right angle, damn him, how to keep Uhura’s head in place as he probed every corner of her mouth. There was an exclamation point he kept driving home, withdrawing only to let her breathe, and to inhale his musk. It wouldn't be smart to get addicted to that. Not smart at all. 

These memories, as McCoy sucked her her most ardent piece of flesh, were more than enough to bring Uhura up to warp. She gave up harsh, shuddering breaths even as she pressed her mouth into the space above one bicep to keep more traitorous sounds inside.

Hard again, and keen, he turned her rag-doll body over. She was still coming down, so release from the gel didn't register except as annoyance when he sealed it back back onto her wrists. This time they were crossed behind small of her back. He made her lie on them and swept a hand down the plane of her abs to give her puffy mound a squeeze. Uhura whined. She bit down on any other sound as she worked on on catching her breath. Only when he leaned in and smoothed a second gel-strip over her mouth, did the comms officer snap fully back to attention and do her utmost to scream. But it was no use. Her access to the ship's computer was gone. 

“I know.” McCoy soothed with lilting satisfaction. The strip was thin enough that she could feel his thumb ghosting over her lips.

Furious now, she rolled and almost dislodged him. But he merely smirked, shoved open her legs, and got between them, his cock probing at her over-used clit. It was worse when he rubbed his glans teasingly against it, watching every twitch her body made as Uhura cycled between pushing into the touch and seeking escape. 

“Now is that any way to be? After I treated you so nice.” McCoy was close enough that she could smell herself on him, more pungent than even the drink. It translated into a bolt of feeling that arrowed down and into her guts and nipples. 

Still, she stared daggers at him and spared a thought for the one sheathed in her right boot, on the floor, on the other side of the bed, and out of reach.

“And remember,” McCoy said as he pushed in. “I don’t have to keep being nice.”

There was a hand at her throat. It was just careless or only a warning; McCoy's was intent on seeing how tweaking her nipples made her shiver and clench. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, how it made Uhura unable to help herself. She closed her eyes, swallowed, and then arched into that restraining palm. The doctor wasn’t as strong as Spock, but he was more than strong enough.

“What's this?” McCoy tightened his fingers experimentally. Her answering moan welled out of a very deep place and then his cock jerked -- she could feel it.

“Now darlin', you are a very bad girl for calling the kettle black when you're nothing but a pot yourself.”

Her mind reeled. Spock could be trusted keep the secret, since he liked being the only male on board who could give her what she craved. But there was no telling what McCoy would do with this lurid information. 

“Look at me,” the doctor ordered, slapping her proud, high tits and putting more weight on her throat.

She mewled.

"That’s it, “ McCoy gave few thrusts with new ferocity his eyes. He groaned. “You know how  _tight_  this gets you?"

Uhura could feel his cock responding and how he used that response to dig at the very locus he'd been fingering moments ago. Then there was his hold. It tightened as he sped up. Uhura's lids fluttered drifted but he slapped her with another "eyes forward". Fucking hell, he was watching her pupils. McCoy knew exactly what to look for and how long he could wait. She was fucked. In every sense.

“Ohh, _that’s_ it darlin’ that’s what I want,” he growled. She thrilled to hear it. “Wrap your legs around me, we're taking this home.”

He was slamming into her now, balls in motion, with his teeth clenched and his hand so sweet around her throat. But even through the buzzing in her ears, she could still hear those easy syllables describing all that she was doing and wanted and was for wanting it. Filthy words with a honeyed edge. It was actually his voice was that sent her spinning, shattered, over the edge, dizziness and fading vision all part of her bliss.

Still, McCoy didn’t let up -- not until he'd given a triumphant shout and voided himself into her. Then he just watched her, eyes lit with a blinding intensity that Spock had never matched, and never would.

And the doctor knew that, goddamn him.

He knew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhura heard Spock correctly, didn't she?

Naked and ready -- Spock had been precise. So when he arrived to find Uhura's lights still up, her clothes still on, and some sort of Earthly drum ensemble on the stereo, he deemed it time for a reminder.

Her topknot was in his fist before she could even stand at attention. 

“My instructions weren't clear?”

She stiffened. “You're early, Sir.”

"Lieutenant, I am well," he drew the silky ponytail to one side, exposing her neck," aware of the time needed to fully prepare yourself. I had counted on watching the final stages." 

He cast her in the direction of the bed. She stumbled, caught herself, and began climbing to where she would presumably give him coy looks as she undressed. Spock waited roughly a second before he seized the blankets and jerked both her and the fabric gracelessly to the floor. He was seated and watching before she had time to subdue the defiance in her eyes.

“Sometimes,” he remarked with a nonchalance meant to provoke, “it is a wonder the captain allows you on the bridge at all." 

She was kneeling on well-rounded haunches. The dagger was in its usual spot on her thigh but, she dared not make any motion towards it. Although Spock saw how her fingers twitched. It was an agreeable tableau, this Terran woman on her knees, fighting to control her emotions.

"Let me be more specific." Spock raised the hand that was not still firmly attached to the back of her neck. “Suck.”

Uhura took the first two digits. She alternated. First his index finger, then both, then the middle, then both, with the intermittent flash of her tongue along the sensitive webbing between. He relaxed. When the time came to seek the warmth of her throat, he enjoyed this, although she tired and gagged far too soon. Spock merely tightened his grip, leaving her no choice except to take three of his fingers as she fought to keep her teeth from grazing him -- she’d been punished for that before. Uhura seemed sweetly unaware that he relished these human failures. It made her more exotic. Perfection was a Vulcan trait, after all.

When he gave her more freedom, Uhura lapped at the pads of his fingers. She nibbled at the plump outer edge of his hand. The sight of her lowered lashes and full lips wet with her own secretions, was potent. Uhura’s saliva, her sweat, all the juices she shared with him so freely spoke of wanton excess. Being raised in on a water-planet and here made her succulent than any fruit he could name, however, there was one elixir, a rare one, which Uhura hadn't shared with him for some time.

The thought was no sooner in Spock’s head than he lifted her, one arm around her shoulders and the opposite hand, the wet one, between her legs and supporting the base of her spine. He laid her down. He unsheathed her dagger with an economy of motion and slid it beneath the waistband of her skirt. A jerk parted it neatly. The rest was easy to tear away.

“Sir!”

“You can requisition a new one,” he enunciated into the shell of one ear, “when we're finished here. Next time you might be better prepared. "

Spock arranged them so that she lay prone across his lap with her posterior in perfect view. He caressed the half-globes for a moment. She relaxed -- not completely, Uhura wasn't so naive -- but enough for her to tense back up when he laid the coldness of the dagger along her spine. The blade pointed towards her feet, in the same manner as the Imperial swords on their uniforms. Spock appreciated the symmetry of it. He waited for Uhura to take a breath, to anticipate.

The knifepoint was sharp. Even with the gentlest pressure, Spock was able to trace patterns that bloomed white, and then red, matching the shade of the undergarment. He traced words into her flesh in ornate Vulcan script: chalice, whore -- not deeply, but evenly and slowly enough that she could perhaps sense the mirror images and translate. When she'd been marked to his satisfaction, Spock laid the dagger out of reach. 

He let her feel the weight of his hand. It rested at first. Then it kneaded her cheeks. Uhura was silent and still. He would change that.

A slap made Spock's prisoner take a breath. She was accustomed to pain; they all were, yet Terran girls had lower thresholds and decidedly inferior control. Spock's emotional mastery was also nothing if not helpful. Encounters since their conscription had bonded her to him in the feeble way that humans considered permanent. Thus, he could feel her emotions without the meld. With it, he could read her thoughts.

“You're enjoying this.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

She groaned into the sheets now bunched in each hand. Her skin was red. The calligraphy stood out against it.

“Acknowledge me.”

“Unhhhnyes. Sir.”

“And this.”

“Yes, I ohh --” Another ringing slap cut her off.

“Shall I continue?”

“No, please I -” She shifted to escape the pain. It was fractional, but telling.

“No? Why protest you're clearly,” he dipped into her secretions, then inside, “enjoying this?”

Feelings raced through Spock -- aversion, and naked lust. He knew from past experience that the full meld would no doubt involve that most human of words "fuck". But she'd get nothing before Spock had what he wanted. He projected an image through the hand at the back of her neck and through the other, buried deep in the place she though of as _my pussy, my cunt_.

“No!”

Uhura squirmed and tried to rise. He pulled her back. It was easy to pin her thighs with a leg clamped over them, his free hand now fused to the nape of her neck with fingers digging in, projecting his desire as well as her pain back into her, so that every blow was now twice as hard and thus two steps closer his desired result. She would submit. And satisfy.

“Annhhh!” The sound his woman made went up the scale, ending on a note that could probably be heard outside the room.

Her voice was thick with a wanton kind of anguish and Spock could no longer resist.  He slid around to the meld points on her face. It was difficult from this angle, but he wanted more of her now. 

_Ohgodit HURTS, please stop, ple --_

“Take it,” he snarled.

The tides of her rose as she bucked beneath his hand. Her body pulsed like a flaring star near the end of its lifetime. He would --

But there, there it was. Tears across her skin, drops of salt water, full of rage, and desire, and pain. They tracked down her cheeks. They were paired with catches in her breath and raw sounds, from deep in her belly and throat. It was just a moment until she was sobbing openly. Spock closed his eyes and hung there, suspended in time. 

As he undressed, Spock noted a spot on his uniform that was damp with her essence. It was just further proof of how much she needed this, how completely she belonged to him.

“Naked, spread,” he traced her pouting sex, "and ready. Those were my instructions.”

“Yes, Sir." Uhura nodded. She was on her back now. Her eyes were huge and dark, her lips barely parted. She rolled her hips under him and canted them upwards, clearly hoping for contact with the erection that he'd only just acknowledged. 

“Then next time,” here Spock slapped her full across the face, "do what,” and he wrapped his hands around her ankles, folding her in half, “I say.”

He chose the smaller, tighter passage. Uhura was used to this, of course, but not with so little preparation. The factor that allowed Spock to do this without damaging her was the lubrication he provided, something human males did much less, if at all.

She gasped, but it wasn't a sound of defiance. Instead it signaled surrender, and, on a certain level, her enjoyment. He set up a punishing rhythm, calculated to teach her the necessity of doing exactly as he said. Uhura, for her part, was lost in sensation, eyes closed, back arched, and vocalizing lustily, even in his own language, perhaps to hasten his climax. He only watched as she thrashed below and squeezed out more of the tears that beaded on her lashes before flowing, in cascades. The sight was entrancing. 

He sped up his thrusts. One knuckle skimmed her cheek and he held the drops in this chalice until he could taste. 

Spock was undone. He needed this and needed to control Uhura ever more tightly to prevent her from knowing it. With a snarl, he emptied himself, hips jerking in those final moments. The session ended in a long, victorious kind of groan that let her know she had been adequate. 

It took three or four inhalations, no more, to quiet his breathing and withdraw. A sonic shower rid Spock of the more obvious traces of their encounter. He dressed without hurry in the uniform she had refreshed in the meantime. There were evenings when it was advisable to stay and allow his nearness to strengthen her emotional dependence. At other times he might order her to touch herself. However, was not one of those times. Spock left without a word.

Those gathered in the corridor to get or trade in gossip parted like a sea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you spikeface, beta extraordinaire. 
> 
> =-=-=-=-=-
> 
> Like this? [I, Kinkster](http://ikinkster.com) has nonfiction too.


End file.
